Gears, Bombs, And Butchery
by DapplesNotSpots
Summary: The socially awkward Varia mechanic, Il Meccanico,is sent to gather information on Vongola X and his family. But what will ensue when her mission becomes a battle of the morals she thought she lacked? BelphegorXOC GokuderaXOC. Review for continuation.
1. A Prologue

I kill for pleasure. For the electricity that courses through one's veins when death occurs at their own hands. Adrenaline. It's a simple compound that makes your heart beat faster and your palms grow sweaty. Without it, human would have already been eradicated. It helps us think under pressure, but is also the force that drives us to feel pressured in the first place. But the feeling it brings, the sheer, unadulterated emotion that adrenaline is and represents, multiplies a million times when one causes death.

Though many claim that cleanliness is close to godliness, the closest to godliness one can be is when they kill another. Godliness is not being able to perform miracles, nor is it the ability of foresight or skill beyond belief. It is being in control. It is knowing you can successfully ruin anyone's life with the flick of your wrist. It is controlling the emotions of another person, toying with their aspirations and fears. That is godliness.

Then again, I don't believe in any God. I believe in the Devil, and I believe in Hell. But I do not believe in God. I believe I may be the offspring of a demon, possibly that I am Satan himself. But I do not believe in a force made purely for goodness and kindness, which punishes evil doers and banishes them to a life of pain and misfortune. If i did believe in such nonsense, I would have a set of the strange things known as morals. But I do not. I have only my hands, which I use to create feats of modern technology.

I am Duchessa Di Danimarca, the Duchess of Denmark in a language you can understand. But I have long since run away from that title, much to my only friend's dismay. I live in Italy, working with a reclusive gang of hit men known as the Varia. People refer to me as Il Meccanico, while those who have befriended me call me Meca. I've been shot the same number of years I am old, which makes for fourteen bullet wounds. I've been stabbed the same number of times I've been shot minus ten by a prince named Belphegor who, consequently, happens to be the only person I've ever been able to play nice with. My life has actually been rather good despite me deserting my life as a duchess.

I kill people for money and I get to live with a host of interesting characters. One greedy Arcobaleno who consistently claims I'm stealing his riches, one luscious haired swordsman who forces me to make him coffee at ungodly hours every morning, one amazingly gay man with a mohawk who's shattered my sternum twice for no apparent reason, one constantly electrified man who offers me umbrellas that I really shouldn't accept, one self-proclaimed prince that refers to me as "his toy" every time he talks to me, and one man shaped booze container of a boss. And that had been my life since I was ten years old. I was punched, kicked, drowned, slapped, tripped, set on fire, pushed, body slammed, kneed, run over, stabbed, electrocuted, bitten, sliced, and generally broken in all senses of the word. But life was still good.

And now, at two-forty-seven in the morning, I'm on a plane heading to Japan. Well, less a plane and more an enormous private jet. My hands fiddled with a tin soldier, soft grey eyes scanning its gears slowly, checking each cog for any sign of overuse. I slid a pair of glasses further up the bridge of my nose as I worked. There wasn't anything wrong with my eyes I simply used the slates of glass for magnification. Tiny gears were hard to see without any extra assistance. Superbi Squalo, the man seated rather uncomfortably next to me shifted in his seat. He looked extremely upset about being placed near me on our extremely long plane excursion. Both Squalo and me were making our way to Japan to resolve a very pressing matter. It had been unfortunately discovered that Xanxus was not going to be inheriting the right to rule the Vongola family. This made the Varia extremely unhappy, and everyone knew that when the Varia was unhappy, people started dying.

But, we had found a bit of a loophole. If the Varia, a family already in possession of a set of Vongola half rings, stole the lovely jewelry currently being gifted to Tsunayoshi Sawada and his band of misfits, we would become the rulers of family we rightfully deserved. Thus it had been decided that Squalo would search for the location of the rings in Japan while I performed a reconnaissance mission focused on Tsunayoshi's family. I was to collect vital data about the members of this child's clan and compile a series of reports including individual strengths, weaknesses, siblings, parents, personality, and every other possible attribute that went into creating a human life. And of course the Varia chose the only socially awkward member of the group to complete this task.

Unfortunately for our family, I am the most helpless person when it comes to establishing relationships. For some reason, I always end up being accused of Satanism, no matter what school I go to or how normal I try to act. And, once you're labeled as a heathen, people tend to lose interest in being your friend. I'm not sure why Xanxus thought it was a reputable idea to send me instead of some lower ranking spy, but I won't question his ways.

"Can I braid your hair?" I bleated, not realizing what had been said before the words left my mouth. It was a perfect example of my tattered social skills, but I simply couldn't resist. Squalo's gorgeous, grey locks would look so wondrous in one long braid it made my heart skip a beat. I could completely forget the fact that I hated him if he allowed me to braid his beauteous hair. But no matter how tender his mane would look after being styled, I didn't have the right to touch it without his permission. I had a tendency to toy with my hands when I became nervous, and nothing could make me more squeamish than the thought of failing a mission. The tin soldier no longer satisfied my enormous appetite for stimulation.

"No." Squalo's voice had a sleek edge to it, sharper than the blade of his prized sword. I withdrew my advances as fast as humanly possible to avoid being killed. The fear that he was going to stab me for misbehaving stemmed solely from Belphegor's past behavior. I didn't find nearly being killed a reasonable punishment for not cleaning the boy's room in a maid's outfit. He had trained me to be consistently apprehensive around sharp objects. I glared at Squalo's hair intensely, moving my fingers as I day dreamed about braiding his undoubtedly silky hair. The glance he gave me was so horrifying I resumed toying with my tin child. I smiled at the tiny man's face, glad it wouldn't ever act the way other children did. At Namimori, I would try my very hardest not to make a fool of myself. I was sure I could succeed.

Yet, as that moment crept closer, I couldn't help but lose hope.

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><p><em><strong>Welcome to the first rewritten chapter people! I didn't change too much, but I fixed a lot of grammatical errors and spelling mishaps. Thanks for the great response to the idea of a rewrite! I took down the other chapters before posting this so no one gets confused! I hope you guys will keep on reading. Don't forget to review, mooncalves! Thanks for reading~<strong>_

_**~DNS**_


	2. Awkward

A thousand eyes bore holes in my flesh the moment I walked into the room. The way they glared at me so intensely made me nervous. Did they do this to all the children? Or was it simply because I was new? Did I have a stain on my uniform? Or did they hate the way I looked? Was there any chance they enjoyed my appearance? Or was I just fooling myself? I didn't have the answer to any of those questions and it horrified me. It horrified me almost more than Squalo did. I stared at the floor as I moved until I bumped into my instructor's desk. He glanced up at me, staring intently into my soul for only a moment with his beady, black eyes. He quickly returned to his papers.

"Ah, you're the new student. You must be-" he began, only to have his sentence sliced sharply in half.

"Meca. Um... Meca Latta, right? I think that's right. It should be..." my interruption trailed off. I had somewhat forgotten the last name of my new alias. He looked back up at me, glaring this time.

"Please don't interr-"

"Oh, yeah, sorry. I won't." I bleated. I dug my thumbnail into my thigh as punishment. This was not the time to be socially awkward, Meca. Be charming and adorable. Finally make some friends who aren't psychopaths. My attempts at encouragement failed rather brutally. I pursed my lips, nibbling at their flesh contently as the teacher began to lecture me. I toyed with my hands as he spoke, undoing the hem of my skirt and tearing off small bits of fabric until very little of my uniform was left.

"... Do you understand?" he finally looked down at me, his sharp eyes searching for any sign of weakness that may have touched my body. I wanted to answer truthfully, but saner heads prevailed after a long moment of thinking.

"Yes." I gave myself a nod of satisfied approval. No longer socially awkward. It felt extremely pleasant to know I could answer someone and not interrupt them. I headed for my seat triumphantly.

"Oh, Ms. Latta, I'm afraid you aren't allowed to wear anything other than your uniform so-"

"I'm only required to wear my uniform. The student handbook specifies nothing about what can be worn over or under the uniform. I won't be changing." I took a seat in a desk adjacent to Tsunayoshi Sawada while a stunned teacher glared at me from across the room. Most of the students began sniggering in their seats, passing around rude comments about both my offended, adult acquaintance and me.

He took charge of the classroom immediately and began giving a rather startling lecture about the American writing style. I shrunk down in my desk to avoid being seen while he prattled on about laziness and other stereotypical traits. My eyes traveled over to the boy next to me.

He was staring out the window whimsically; his brown eyes covered half way by taunt eyelids. The young man was surprisingly scrawny. I leaned a bit farther away from my desk to get a closer look at him. He lacked any trace of muscle tone or even really anything that may have been considered a muscle fiber. His brunette hair was so enormously puffy I was tempted to stick small items in it just to see if he noticed.

"Mr. Sawada and Ms. Latta! Is something that pertains to American writing out that window?" the now extremely cranky old man at the head of the room cracked a ruler over his desk. It split in half, one end remaining in his grip while the other sped around the room and ricocheted directly into someone's face.

Sawada whipped his head around to face the front of the room but was instead greeted by the very eerie sight of a socially inept idiot looking him up and down, literally taking notes on his outward appearance. We stared at each other for an intensely long few moments, almost as if we had engaged in a contest to decide who was just that much more awkward. I won. Unfortunately. He turned away sluggishly to respond to the teacher's summons.

"No, sorry..." his annoyingly squeaky voice trailed off as his gaze shifted back out the window. This time, I kept my distance. It was only a short twenty minutes before the bell rang and dismissed us all to our next class. Surprisingly, in that time, I had managed to actually get a great deal of work done. By which I mean I doodled a small picture of my boss with monster fangs next to one extremely rude sentence about Sawada's hair. I gathered my books before walking slowly towards the bathroom.

I had decided to be late. I'd memorized the school's layout last night, but nobody other than me knew that. I locked the door when I got there, lying flat on the floor and rolling around for a little while. If I wasn't so awkward, I would explain how participating in an act like that is calming and relaxing. But I am just that awkward. So you, dear elf inside my head or whoever is documenting these thoughts, will simply be stuck with the image of a thirteen year old, Italian mechanic splayed out on the tile flooring of an expensive school bathroom.

A good thirty minutes went by before I was overtaken by the sudden need for strawberry milk. The initial stress of this predicament was beginning to wear away and my less mortified self was starting to poke through. I stopped by the mirror on my way out in an attempt to asses just how fantastically strange I looked in a sea of identical uniforms. Following my profession's classic stereotype, I was almost constantly dressed in a grease stained, brown jumpsuit.

Granted, this one was special. I had reinforced the fabric and turned the suit into armor by strategically placing small, steel plates over my vital organs. I had also fitted the ensemble with a hood and a gas mask after one faithful day where I incidentally mixed ammonia and bleach together and nearly died. It often occurred to me that the event might have caused my crippling awkwardness but then I remembered I had never been graceful in any manner.

I peered back at my reflection a second time. There was a small tin soldier perching on my shoulder. I hadn't realized he'd emerged during class. As a young female in the mafia, I obviously wasn't particularly fast or strong so I was forced to rely on the toys I could make with my skills as a mechanic to fight for me. TinTin was the first thing I had used my abilities on and he remained both my best friend and my most useful creation so naturally I kept him with me at all times. The rest of my appearance was not nearly as interesting.

I was bland. My face wasn't attractive, my hair wasn't curly or lengthy, and my chest could hardly be considered anything more than okay. I shrugged, not really interested in giving any thought to how I could fix my face. I was one of those girls who didn't want to. In fact I'm almost positive I was the only girl who didn't want to. I slunk out of the bathroom after brushing my smock off. I didn't want people to know I'd been rolling around on the bathroom floor. TinTin wriggled on my shoulder, repositioning himself as I walked.

The quest for strawberry milk had just begun and I had no intentions of failing. However, my objective changed a bit when I noticed a very tall young man wandering around in the hallways. He was Takeshi Yamamoto. The baseball star, the class heartthrob, the giant-like in stature young man who was at the very top of my list.

Under Hayato Gokudera, naturally. An ex-mafioso boy ranked higher than what appeared to be the most enormously tall child I'd ever seen. While my perception of his height may have been sullied due to my crippling shortness, he was still terrifyingly monstrous. I kept my distance as I tailed him. God only knew what someone so tall might do if they found themselves being followed. This time, I actually did take noted on his appearance. Non-cynic ones as well. Except for a few crass comments about his height.

He was a rather gorgeous boy with short, spiky black hair that lined his muscular face. His brown eyes bugged out to convey a sort of child-like innocence that I found adorable. This was the enemy, but this also was the cutest enemy I'd ever faced. His body looked much like a baseball star's would, toned in all the right places. I tried not to let my guard down and keep my distance as I followed, but my awkward nature had other plans in store.

Yamamoto stopped abruptly to pull a small note out of the duffel bag he was using to carry his bats and such. I, however, did not stop nearly so soon. He turned around, being greeted by a socially inept idiot with a dumbfounded expression on her face. I made a dash in the other direction the moment we locked eyes. Bad call. I went sprawling, face first, into a wall. My body crumpled upon impact and I oozed onto the floor. My cover was blown. I stared up at him.

"H-"

"Hi." I interrupted his greeting with the utmost beauty and grace as my nose bloomed into a fountain of blood.

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><p><em><strong>My total fucking apologies for that hiatus school has been WRECKING me lately. Anyhow, here's the second rewritten chapter! Sorry for the length, the probable shitiness, all of that good apology stuff! I should start updating faster though, at least until school hits that horrible STAR testing point again... Bah, I'm droning on about stuff you don't care about! Thanks for reading, Mooncalves! <strong>_

_**~DNS**_


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